


Succor

by TheThirdTemptationOfParis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Elimination Round, Eurus is only kinda there, Kinda?, M/M, TFP fix-it, also another apology for my gf, and John isn't going to let Sherlock shoot himself, but Johnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:39:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdTemptationOfParis/pseuds/TheThirdTemptationOfParis
Summary: “God!” Mycroft shouted, “I should have expected this. Pathetic. You always were the slow one,” John stepped up to his partner and placed a hand on his face, smiling sadly and looking into his eyes, “the idiot. That’s why I’ve always despised you. You shame us all. You shame the family name. Now for once in you life, do the right thing. Put this stupid little man out of all our misery.”John ghosted his thumb over Sherlock’s cheek and nodded, “It’s alright, love.”Elimination Round. Who lives, who dies?





	Succor

The coffin was shattered and Sherlock collapsed onto the floor, spent and exhausted. John stood in front of him and took a deep breath, “I know this is difficult, and I know you’re being tortured, but you’ve got to keep it together,” he crouched down and took Sherlock’s hand, “Look at me, love. You’ve got to keep it together.”

“This isn’t torture, John, this is vivisection,” Sherlock nearly spat, gripping John’s hand a little tighter, “We’re experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats. I can’t do it, John. I just can’t.”

“You can. I’ve seen you do it. You kept it together for me,” he kept his voice level and the stroking over Sherlock’s knuckles rhythmic.

“That was different.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“How wasn’t it?” Sherlock looked up at him, eyes panicked.

John placed his hand on the side of his cheek, stroking lightly, “My whole world had just fallen apart, love, and I was trying to pick up the pieces. You were there and you gave me the strength to. Now, your world is falling, you’re trying to pick up the pieces, and I’m here to give you the strength to.”

Sherlock leaned into John’s touch, “John…”

“You can do it, love,” John pulled Sherlock’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, his fingertips, and his palm, taking complete control of the bit of reprieve, “We can do it. But it has to be together. Just the two of us against the rest of the world, yeah?”

Sherlock’s eyes grew wide, “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember that. That was the night you came back to me. How could I forget?”

Sherlock leaned his head back against the wall and looked toward the open door, “Soldiers?”

John nodded, “Soldiers,” he pulled Sherlock to his feet and entered the open room.

“Hey sis, don’t mean to complain, but this one’s empty,” Sherlock remarked as he entered the fourth cell, “What happened? Did you run out of ideas?” John stood close behind him, nearly touching, and just the mere closeness began to settle the frayed nerves Sherlock possessed.

“It’s not empty, Sherlock,” Eurus nearly laughed, “You’ve still got the gun, haven’t you? I told you you’d need it, because only two can play the next game. Just two of you go from here. Your choice,” the smile she flashed set Sherlock’s teeth on edge, bright despite all she was doing, “It’s make-up-your-mind time. Whose help do you need the most — John or Mycroft?”

John stepped closer, placing a hand on the small of his back, effectively trying to calm him, only to have him flinch under his hand.

“It’s an elimination round,” Eurus said, her voice full of mirth, “You choose one and kill the other. You have to choose family or lover, Mycroft or John Watson.” Jim Moriarty with his incessant ticking appears on screen as the lights turned red.

“Eurus, enough!” Mycroft shouted, glaring at the projection of his sister.

“Not yet, I think,” her voice was cool as she spoke, “But nearly. Remember, there’s a plane that’s not going to land.”

John rubbed Sherlock’s back once and stepped back, standing in line with Mycroft. Once he did, Mycroft tilted his head towards him, “Well?”

Sherlock looked stunned, “Well what?”

“We’re not really going to discuss this, are we?” There was a hint of malice in Mycroft’s voice as he turned fully to John, “I’m sorry, Doctor Watson. You’re a fine man in many respects and have been and still could be the making of my brother. Make your goodbyes and shoot him,” Sherlock made no move, just looked at his brother, “Shoot him!”

“What?” John asked, coming out of his stupor.

“Shoot Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said, stepping toward Sherlock, “There’s no question who has to continue from here. It’s us. You and me. Whatever lies ahead requires brainpower, Sherlock, not sentiment. Don’t prolong his agony. Shoot him.”

“Do I get a say in this?” John asked, on the defensive, “Love, you have a say in this too.”

“Today, we are soldiers,” Mycroft said, spitting John’s words right back at him, “Soldiers die for their country. I regret, Doctor Watson, that privilege is now yours.”

John stood, stunned for a moment, but thought it over. Sherlock could survive without him. He’d done it before. But he could not survive without his brother, the man he’s had by his side since childhood, “Shit. He’s right, love,” he looked towards Mycroft, “He is, in fact, right.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, John,” Sherlock whispered, stepping closer, fists clenched.

“Make it swift. No need to prolong his agony,” Mycroft continued with his bashing of John’s importance in Sherlock’s life, “Get it over with, and we can get to work.”

Mycroft paused, waited for Sherlock’s move, which is only a turn of his head, facing away from both of them, “God!” Mycroft shouted, “I should have expected this. Pathetic. You always were the slow one,” John stepped up to his partner and placed a hand on his face, smiling sadly and looking into his eyes, “the idiot. That’s why I’ve always despised you. You shame us all. You shame the family name. Now for once in you life, do the right thing. Put this stupid little man out of all our misery.”

John ghosted his thumb over Sherlock’s cheek and nodded, “It’s alright, love.”

“Stop it,” Sherlock whispered, not looking at him, “Both of you.”

“Look at him,” Mycroft starts, and Sherlock does look at John, tears in his eyes, “What is he? Nothing more than a distraction. A little scrap of ordinariness for you to impress, to dazzle with your cleverness. You’ll find another.”

John pulled Sherlock’s face down to his and kissed him lightly, “It’s alright,” he whispered against his lips, “I don’t mind,”

“Please, for God’s sake, just stop it,” Sherlock said, pulling back and looking at his brother.

“Why?” Mycroft spat, full of disdain.

“Because, on balance, even your Lady Bracknell was better,” he turned back to John, whose hands had fallen away from his face to clench at his side, “Ignore everything he just said. He’s being kind. He’s trying to make it easier for me to kill him,” he raises the gun, biting his lip, “Which is why this is going to be so much harder.”

“Love, don’t,” John said, placing a hand on his arm. 

“It’s not your choice, Doctor Watson. Not in the face, please. I promised my brain to the Royal Society.”

“Where would you suggest?” Sherlock asked, looking a little pained.

Mycroft undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie, “Well, I guess there is a heart in here somewhere. I don’t imagine it’s much of a target, but why don’t we try for that?”

John stepped a little more evenly between the two brothers, holding up his hands, “I won’t allow this,” he stood in front of the gun, staring directly into Sherlock’s eyes, “You can live without me. You’ve done it before, but you know just as well as I do that you can’t live without your brother. Make the right decision, love.”

“John, stop it. You’re being ridiculous. I can scarcely breathe without you. Now please, let me just get this over with.” John looked deep into his lover’s eyes, saw the pain there, and stepped aside.

“This is all my fault,” Mycroft said, making Sherlock cock his head to the side, “Moriarty.”

“Moriarty?” Sherlock asked, thoroughly confused.

“Her Christmas treat. Five minutes conversation with Jim Moriarty five years ago.”

“What did they discuss?”

“Five minutes conversation,” Mycroft looked down and away, “unsupervised,” Sherlock leveled the gun a bit more, gripping it with more determination, “Goodbye, brother mine. No flowers. My request.”

Eurus’ voice came over the speaker again after having been silent throughout the entire exchange, “Jim Moriarty thought you’d make this choice. He was so excited.”

The lights in the cell turned red again as Moriarty’s face appeared on screen, “And here we are. The end of the line. Holmes killing Holmes. This is where I get off.”

“Five minutes?” Sherlock spat, “It took her five minutes to do this to us?” he lowered the gun and looked John over as if it would be the last time he would see him, “Well, not on my watch.”

He turned to face Eurus whose slightly shaken voice came over the speaker, “What are you doing?”

Sherlock turned back to face John and Mycroft, “A moment ago, a man asked to be remembered. I’m remembering the governor,” he lifted the pistol with both hands and leveled it under his chin, “Ten...”

John lunged forward, wrapping his hands around Sherlock’s wrists, “No! Look at me Sherlock. Absolutely not. Look at me,” Sherlock dained a glance, heartbreak behind his eyes, “Don’t yo—” John was cut off by the pricking of a dart in the back of his neck, all three men collapsing into blackness in the cell.


End file.
